D minor
by OnTheImportanceOfLungs
Summary: Oneshot. A DLP-inspired exploration of a fem!TomRiddle. This is not for the squeamish. Admitted into the DLP library.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The title is named after the key in which a rather famous piece of music written several hundred years ago was composed on.

I was inspired by T3t's fantastic work **Thunderstorm** and the semi-porn drabbles of Nuhuh and Syaoran, I hereby take my own step into the rising genre of Harry/fem!Tom shipping.

Written in three hours, this will probably everything that the ship shouldn't be, but hopefully _somebody_ will like it.

Warnings: This fic will probably disturb you. Alot.

**...**

"Her darkness is of a brand unlike any other."

Dumbledore had warned him three times.

Once when he had confronted her in the Chamber of Secrets, and his little forbidden fantasies were laid in front of him by the tired old man's Legilimency. A second time when he returned clutching the body of Cedric Diggory and the Triwizard cup with a self-loathing so strong he thought he would throw himself off the Astronomy tower for a moment. A final time after the Dark Lady possessed him in the Ministry Atrium.

The Possession. It was the turning point in his life. After it, he promised himself that he would never be so weak again. He promised himself that he would never feel such sublime pain, such perfect pleasure. Such orgasm-inducing-

His mind snapped back to the present and he gritted his teeth. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He didn't want to lose himself in the fantasy, in the darkness. In the little whispers that ran through his mind that he knew she had planted there.

A magical phonograph played mildly familiar notes in the background. He didn't know that the Malfoys listened to muggle music, from whichever century.

A small drop of stagnant water hit his forehead and he jolted.

Hermione's screams tore through the air again, and he willed them out of his mind. If he didn't, he knew he'd snap. Ron had come close to tearing through his shackles in a here-to-unseen display of accidental magic.

"We have to help her, Harry. We have to!" Ron muttered, the little mantra fueling his struggle against the clanking metal. Luna sat in the corner, humming slightly.

Ron's chains gave a final pop, sounding almost resigned, as the boy's magic overpowered them and fell to the floor.

"Harry, undo your chains", whispered Ron urgently.

"They've called her here. She's coming", Harry said, his voice devoid of any sort of emotion. Ron thought he caught a shade of longing in Harry's eyes for a split second, but dismissed it.

"Someone, help us. Please, someone help us", Ron chanted to himself.

There was a thumping from the stairs. Harry recognized it to be Wormtail's walk.

The door's lock gave a strange grinding noise, and Wormtail stepped into the room, only to have Ron's fist rocket into his throat.

Harry understood why. The was a slight sheen of blood on Pettigrew's glinting silver hand.

_Muddy blood_, whispered the voice. He ignored it, but he couldn't ignore the foreign fury that it pushed into his veins.

Pettigrew's hand had come up, and it began to choke Ron.

Harry leapt across the room and slammed the shackled hands into Pettigrew's face. The silver hand didn't relinquish its grasp on Ron's throat.

Harry hit him again and again as the voice filled him with pleasurable sensations ever time there was a crunch of broken bone.

"S-stop it, Harry", gasped Ron, free from the hold of the magical construct as Pettigrew's body slackened.

Harry didn't hear him as the shackles crushed Pettigrew's forehead and little jets of blood sprayed about.

"Harry!" Ron shouted, shaking the other boy, the pair of them covered in Pettigrew's blood.

"The rat", he murmured, as if it explained his actions completely. "The rat", he continued, as his eyes widened in growing horror at what he had done. "It was the rat. I couldn't. I needed to", he explained, mostly to himself. "He betrayed my p-parents. He ressurrected _her_", he justified, but the words sounded quite hollow to his ears.

Ron looked at him with a type of fear that Harry had never seen on the freckled boy's face.

There was another scream from Hermione.

"We have to save her", Ron breathed, his fear forgotten. "Follow if you can", he mouthed to Luna and Ollivander. The latter had moved to the far wall of the dungeon, staring at Harry as if the boy was the Dark Lady herself.

Harry and Ron dashed at top speed towards the foyer of Malfoy Manor, following the sound of the whimpers and occasional screams from Hermione.

They burst into the room in a sudden motion. Harry tackled Draco Malfoy and slammed his elbow into the blond boy's neck. Draco gave a pained moans that sounded almost similar to Hermione's.

Ron had grasped Bellatrix Lestrange by the jaw and was hitting her with everything he had access to. He pulled the silver knife that she had used to torture Hermione out of his side and stabbed at her, but her forearm was in the way. He pummelled her with all his strength as Lucius and Narcissa looked at the pair in shock.

"Draco!" Lucius shouted, grabbing a poker from the fireplace, but Harry had wrestled Draco's wand out of the other's hands.

"Fammipio!" he cried, pointed at Lucius. The red spell soared past the aristocratic man and splashed against the back of Bellatrix Lestrange, who immediately burst into fire, screaming.

Ron pushed her off of himself in a millisecond and grabbed Hermione's unmoving body, pulling her to the other end of the room even as Narcissa raised her wand in an attempt to douse the flames.

Harry snarled as he wrestled with the Dark Arts for control of his casting. The Burning Curse that had left his wand earlier sent little shivers of ecstasy through him as he attempted to rein himself in. His still-unformed Occlumency walled off his mind even as they burst through him.

He lost.

His face twisted into a cruel grimace as the whisper crowed in triumph.

"Her brand of darkness unlike any other."

He reasserted his control, it was _his_ body, _his_ soul! But it was too late.

His growl mirrored the Dark Lady's sensual purr. "Scindo Viscum." Another shudder of pleasure ran through him.

Too much. It was too much.

The grey-black Flesh Flaying Curse caught Lucius Malfoy by the nape of his neck and a strange groan left his lips.

Everyone in the room turned to him as a little bit of blood bubbled out of his lip.

Then he sank to his knees as rivulets that represented his magical purity burst out of his flesh in little fountains.

The blood became small chunks of hearty red flesh that no one would have suspected Lucius Malfoy of having. He opened his mouth to scream, but toppled over, dead.

Harry felt his soul twist and writhe - his very being changed by death.

He wanted it. He _needed_ it.

_More_, the voice whispered.

_You need to mean them._ The woman who had told him it was burning alive. _End her misery._

"I'm ending her misery. Just ending her misery. Just ending her-"

_Do it._

Another flood of pleasure. Had it gotten stronger? It wasn't a little burst anymore, as it had been.

"Avada Kedavra!"

It seemed as if the candles in the room had dimmed as there was a rushing sound.

The green light that pooled at the tip of Draco Malfoy's wand, now Harry's wand, tore through the air with a speed that he could not fathom and sank into Bellatrix Lestrange's chest.

Hermione, who had recently woken, looked straight into his eyes.

The shame. It crushed him.

_Eliminate it. No one should have the right to make you feel this way._

He pointed his wand at Hermione unconsciously, then dropped it.

Narcissa fell in a dead faint.

There was a silence that transcended all thought. Ron opened his mouth to speak several times, but closed it without fail after every trial.

Luna, who had been hiding behind a pillar of some sort, quivered in a type of fear that only she could perceive. Harry felt a stab of a rage so burning and hedonistic that it scared him more than anything he had ever seen or felt.

His scar prickled.

He knelt to pick up his wand, but it was gone.

He turned around, wondering if it had rolled away from him, and found himself face to face with the hem of dark robes.

His eyes wandered upwards, taking in the perfectly pressed silk and past a pair of voluptuous lips and into the glowing red eyes framed with dark, wavy locks of hair that were strangely similar to his.

He scrambled backwards with a sort of primal fear he had never felt before.

When he had met her in the years before, there was always the desperate hope that Dumbledore would appear and save him.

There was always the desperate feeling of invincibility that only a teenager could have.

There was always the desperate knowledge that he was better than her. That he was the scion of the Light, destined to become its next servant.

He didn't even notice the probe tearing through his mind until everything he knew about Hallows and Horcruxes were torn from him.

Soft laughter. It was high and cold, but there was a certain type of music to it that resonated with his blood, with his mind...

And with his body.

She knew.

She knew what he wanted the most.

The dark whisper in his mind had become a pleasurable buzz that obscured his sense.

The soft laughter continued, as if there was a joke that Harry had not understood.

He shut his eyes. The fear had numbed his extremities and the awful, awful arousal was shredding all of his thought processes. He was caught like a deer in the headlights, with only several schoolchildren and a tortured, decrepit old man, the majority without wands behind him.

"Reducto!" cried Hermione, her face white.

The spell was badly formed and the Dark Lady barely glanced at her as it hit a small vase behind her, cracking it.

_Kill her_, the voice whispered. _You can kill the Dark Lady. Just a single curse, and she'll be dead. Dumbledore will be avenged._

His hand slid over what had been the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange. He levelled it against the Dark Lady and began his curse.

"Ava-"

A mocking laugh came from the voice.

Pain. His world had become pain. There was only pain, so deep and terrifying that he wished that there was nothing. He would give anything to never feel anything again. A single stray thought about the Longbottoms rang out against the metaphorical fall into the void.

Then it was suddenly over, and a pair of lips were pressed against his.

His mind stopped functioning for a moment, unable to comprehend the subtle velvet that had invaded him and then suddenly that was over too.

"There, there, Harry." The voice was a cruel caricature of motherhood, but Harry was too emotionally spent to tell the difference. He buried his face in her bosom and threw his arms around her.

"Why?" he half-wailed, half cried.

Then, he was on the floor again, writhing in pain again.

He screamed and screamed and screamed, but the pain didn't let up.

Whatever the Dark Lady had been using before was not the Cruciatus. _This_ was-

And suddenly, there were hands running across his chest and he was unable to speak and a finger was caressing his cheek and he had been disrobed and-

His jaw slackened in pleasure and his eyes stayed shut.

And then suddenly, his scar burst open once more and he felt the pain beyond any sort of endurance again as her very soul coiled around him and squeezed until he relinquished control over his body and he was hers and-

He wasn't in Malfoy Manor any longer, he was immolated in such bliss he couldn't stand it. It was too much. He knew he was tentatively grasping the last pieces of his sanity now and he felt his mouth open and Bella's black wand twitch in his hand as he shouted-

"Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!"

The twin jets of light travelled through the air as Ron and Hermione gazed at their respective deaths in pure shock and they collapsed as if their strings were cut and instantly, Harry was back in control over his own body and-

He was sprawled at her feet once more.

"Now, if you'd only been strong enough to resist me..." she trailed off.

The mute horror built in Harry's soul, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the honeyed voice that invaded his senses.

"You've taken something of mine, Harry."

His right hand flew to his scar.

"Something that wasn't yours to even come near."

Was she speaking of the Horcruxes? She knew- she knew already.

"I'm not angry about that, Harry", she smiled down at him. He felt immensely silly.

"I blame Albus Dumbledore and Regulus Black for that." Her smile reminded Harry of the Boa Constrictor he had set free, so many years ago.

He briefly wondered if it was in Brazil, laying in the sun and-

"Pay attention, Harry." A touch of impatience colored her voice, forcibly reminding Harry of exactly where he was.

He was at the Dark Lady's feet, his every paltry defense lay bared.

"Do you want to know how Regulus Black died, Harry?"

His eyes flared green in curiosity. He ruthlessly crushed it, and prepared himself to speak. "N-n-no", he finally stammered out, his defiance ruined by his lack of articulation.

A fugue played in his head to the rhythm of his pounding head. He idly wondered if Bach had ever been tortured.

He knew he wouldn't live to see morning.

He could hear the angels already, mourning for his lost soul.

"He died of a heart attack, Harry."

His attention snapped back to the Dark Lady.

The notes cascaded in his mind.

"In his final moments, he experienced pleasure so great that he _couldn't_ live to tell of it, Harry."

Harry believed her. For single second, a gleam of need filled his eyes.

She had seen it. He knew she had. There was nothing relevant about him that she didn't know now.

"Is that how you want to die?" she asked softly.

Death.

Death. Death.

Death. Death. Death.

Death. Death. Dea-

"No", he moaned. "No. No. No. I won't. I won't die." He began scrambling backwards again. The desperation lit his features in a pallid glow.

"We really are equals, aren't we?" she whispered. "You, too, are very afraid of dying."

"N-no. I'm nothing like you." He briefly wondered where his courage came from.

"Crucio."

The pain.

"Of course you're just like me, Harry. Let's talk a little, shall we? A young child is sent to a place that doesn't understand or like wizards. The child is neglected by those who are supposed to care and attacked by other children of a nastier variety. The child grows up holding onto a single truth. And the child, who has become an adult, is defeated by _the_ person he or she feared the most."

"I don't f-fear you", he glared.

"Are you sure about that, Harry?"

He knew he was lying. There was nothing he feared more than her. But he would never admit it.

"Yes."

"Cru-"

Harry curled into a ball and screamed, but she hadn't cast the curse.

Red shame flooded his cheeks.

Suddenly, he was in front of her, suspended in the air, and her tongue had slipped past his lips again.

Her robes were gone, and her milky flesh was exposed to his eyes. He had the distinct image of her rising out of a cauldron, a triumphant grin upon her face.

And suddenly, he was within her. A wave of ecstasy far beyond anything he had ever experienced before, unlike anything the voice could produce, wrapped around him.

"Release your hold on my soul, Harry."

He could do nothing but comply.

The voice was gone.

It would be gone forever, he knew it.

Emptiness.

He thought he would be happier to see the piece of her within him leave him.

He fell to the ground, spent, his heart beating faster than it had ever. He had survived where Regulus had not.

He wish he hadn't.

When the Wand of Elder appeared before his eyes, he didn't even protest.

Several rooms away, a hauntingly beautiful final cadence was heard and there was silence.


End file.
